


Etude and Interlude

by JaguarMirror



Series: Glass Bead Universe [4]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anduin Shows Them Who's Boss, Anduin's day is going to get even stranger., Fairshaw, Gen, I'm blaming Mice., Mostly Canon Compliant, This Is Why You Should Never Let Mice And Me In The Same Room, original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25856239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarMirror/pseuds/JaguarMirror
Summary: It's just an average day for the King of Stormwind.  Two Kaldorei and a murloc walk into the court.What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Series: Glass Bead Universe [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916869
Comments: 54
Kudos: 42





	1. interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Anduin's daily activities come from an article on the typical day in the life of a president  
> https://www.businessinsider.com/day-in-the-life-of-president-obama-2015-2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sticking *fairly* close to canon.

Anduin Wrynn took a cautous sip of his Starfire Espresso, savoring the slightly bitter taste. It wasn't his favorite beverage, but the duties of the kingdom started early in the morning and by the time the Great Clock chimed ten, he needed something more stimulating than a security briefing with his personal secretary and the agent in charge of SI:7. He glanced down at his note pad and checked one more item off the list. "And what about the Shado Pan?" 

"Taran Zhu sent a note with commendations for five Champions for their service against the mogu." Sarisse Landow handed the letter to him.

He nodded and glanced down at it. "I don' t think there'll ever be much love for either the Horde or the Alliance from Taran Zhu, but at least he's stopped blaming us for everything. Draft a letter of acknowledgement and thanks from me, please."

"Yes, sir." She pulled the sheet of paper back into her ever-present leather folder and began scribbling a note. "I'll have it ready for you to sign this afternoon."

And that was another one down. His father, Varian, seemed to have relied on his memory for a lot of things, because he left almost no notes and letters in the Stormwind archives. Anduin suspected that his father thought he would gradually show him all the finer points of diplomacy and letters as the situations arose. But the lives of the Wrynn kings tended to be cut short by war and tragedy and Varian Wrynn wasn't proof against fate. Anduin's first eighteen months on the throne had been spent trying to learn how to deal with all the complexities of running a kingdom and keeping reins on a coalition of powerful nations that didn't always agree with each other. A set of notes or even a good history would have helped. 

Varian seemed to rely on a lot of shouting and temper. It had led to a number of mistakes such as the near rebellion in Westfall. Keeping notes and a good history wouldn't prevent future mistakes, but Anduin hoped that they might prevent him from making the same mistakes again and again.

He glanced back toward Tony Romano, the temporary Si:7 Liason Officer. "Any word from Spymaster Shaw?"

Romano's poker face was good - very good, though there was just the barest hint of warm humor in his voice. "Still at the inn. Food sent up, empty plates sent down. No blood, no body parts, no mutinies, no unusual screams."

Anduin hid his own smile as he placed his pen back in the inkwell. Shaw's lifetime of service to the country and crown deserved more than a few weeks vacation with the man he so dearly adored. A few more days wouldn't cause any major problems and if something really did come up, the spymaster was conveniently close and could be called back to service in a few hours. 

He stacked his notes into a carrying case embossed with the royal crest. Kayla Mills, the historian would sort them out later and organize them. With the main business settled, he could think about taking Reverence out for a short ride before he had lunch with Baine. "Well, that's good news then. Is that it?" 

Landrow sighed and exchanged a glance with Romano. "Eh... not quite. We received a letter delivered via the Explorers' League and DEHTA. From King Mrgl-Mrgl."

Anduin snapped the clasp on the case and flipped back through his notes. "DEHTA? And King who?" 

It was clear that Landrow was attempting to be diplomatic. "Druids for the Ethical and Humane Treatment of Animals. Out of Northrend. They're uh... how do I put this... a part of the Cenarion Expedition; a protest against hunting organizations. Founded by Archdruid Lathorius after spending a week or so with Hemet Nesingwary. The king is...er... one of the kaldorei, who seems to have put on a murloc suit and, as they say, gone native and declared himself ruler of a tribe of murlocs." 

"Kaldorei? And none of the murlocs noticed that he was unusually tall?"

"Apparently not. As far as we can tell, every single murloc group he ever met always goes along with whatever he his latest...err... plan is. After ruling in Northrend, he showed up in Highmountain to help control the Swamprock tribes and lately has been helping keep some of the more aggressive Nazjatar murlocs pacified."

"If by 'pacified' you mean 'drunk', then yes", Romano said sourly.

"So what's he like?"

"Archdruid Lathorius? A warm hearted fool, King Mrgl-Mrgl? Uh..."

Anduin waved his hand. "Nevermind. I get the picture."

Romano and Landrow exchanged glances again. "The Archdruid and ...king are requesting an audience. I put them in the Green Reception Room."

Anduin leaned back in his chair and gave them a hard stare over his steepled fingers. "I might not have as much experience as my father had, but I really can tell when you're dancing around issues, and both of you are tiptoeing around something like it's going to leap up and eat you. So let's hear it. Get it over with so I'm prepared for the meeting and then we can move on to other things." He gestured at the day's schedule with its hours lined up like picket fences around his life. 

"Mrgl-Mrgl's brought a murloc with him."

"Romano...."

"Named Finduin."

"FINduin? If this is some kind of joke --"

"It isn't." Landrow pushed a small box shaped like a clamshell across the table. "They said to give you this."

In spite of its delicate looks, the little box was unusually heavy. Anduin unclasped the lock and opened the lid. Inside, nesting against a white windwool padding, was a small replica of Shalamayne, his father's sword about the same size as his pen. "Not a usual sort of souvenir," he said.

Romano shifted in his chair. "It's actually something they gave us to show that this was a serious request. It belongs to Finduin." 

"Very strange."

"It was his father's."

"That's even stranger."

"Go ahead. Pick it up."

Anduin's fingers closed around the tiny hilt and a sudden spark of golden light appeared in the hollow circular space near the hilt and power flowed into his fingertips. He took a startled breath. "This shouldn't..."

"That's what we thought," Landrow said softly as she handed him a letter that appeared to be written on seaweed. It was sealed with a stamp like a clam shell. 

He took it carefully, sliding a knife under the wax blob and then unfolding the paper. "Your Majesty, Finduin, son of Murigan, sends his most respectful greetings and requests the honor of a meeting with Anduin Wrynn, High King of the Alliance, to discuss a most urgent matter." 

It was signed with a single smudged fingerprint. 

He sighed. With any luck, he could sort this out and make sure the afternoon schedule wasn't a complete shambles. "Have the kitchen send something to eat and drink," he told the guard near the door as he waved the others forward. 

"Come on. Let's go see a man about a murloc."


	2. Gilded Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two druids and a murloc walk into Stormwind Castle. Anduin sends for Shaw.
> 
> ...Jaguars are very poor at doing summaries.

The second story window of the Gilded Rose inn was an ideal spot to sit and watch people without being seen; a perfect place for a lazy lunch after a quiet morning in bed. Mathias Shaw smiled quietly as he bit into his sandwich and watched the crowd in the square. Tony Romano had apparently set his newer agents to keeping watch over them. While it was good practice for them, it was clear that this new group of recruits was going to need more practice; he already spotted the little gnome browsing the auction listings and the wandering juggler. The one on the rooftop was doing a good job of stealthing but he was still noticeable to anyone who was well trained.

Flynn Fairwind leaned against his side, reading the morning mail from the port of Boralus. "Why is it that maintenance for two ships seems to cost five times the maintenance for a single ship? And the minute one of them is fixed and ready to run, the other breaks something." He glanced up at Mathias with a grin. "You'd think they miss me."

He spontaneously bent over to drop a kiss on that broad forehead. "I don't blame them. I would miss you if you ran off to another country." 

"At least I don't have to replace your ropes on a weekly basis. Not yet. I mean --"

Shaw silenced him with another kiss and was rewarded by a cheeky grin. 

"Keep that up, Mathias, and I'll have to check your bottom for barnacles."

"I think you need to work on your seduction techniques, Fairwind."

Flynn pouted and then grinned and turned back to his letter. "Cyrus says that trade with Mechagon is picking up. I'll have to see what's available on the docks today. Hope there's some amber from Pandaria. I can fit the Middenwake up with provisioning barrels. Hmm."

There was a familiar figure strolling down the street; a tall, surly, sturdy black-haired man dressed in dramatic black that seemed to say "I am important. I am a rogue. If you cross my path and annoy me, I will make sure you will regret it for the rest of your short life." People tended to move out of the way of Tony Romano - Lord Tony Romano, token House of Nobles liason to SI:7 and one of the better rogue trainers in Stormwind. He was also, in Shaw's opinion, an insufferable twit. 

Shaw narrowed his eyes. "You'll have to do your shopping without me, I'm afraid. We have company," he said as he stood up and began hunting for his clothes. "Tony's headed this way, and he's carrying a dossier of some sort."

"Maybe he's headed for the inn because he just wants a drink and a place to do some light reading."

"Tony Romano? Drink here? Too low class," he snorted as he began lacing up his trousers. "Tony won't even touch water unless it's certified spring water from the Highlands mineral springs -- and then only if it's a recent year. No, he's got business from the crown. Put some clothes on before he gets here."

"I'm wearing pants."

"You're barely wearing pants. And anyway, you can't go to the docks looking like that."

Flynn slid his arms around Mathias' waist, nuzzling against his chest. "Maybe I don't want to go. I could do something better. Besides, I'm not about to let you go running off. King hasn't paid a ransom. We can lock the door and pretend we're not here."

"Flynn..." There was low thunder in Shaw's voice voice, punctuated by a brisk knock on their door. He unwound himself from Flynn's arms.

"I don't suppose that's my ransom."

"No, it's Lord Tony Romano, and he wants me."

"He can't have you. You're mine. Tell him to sod off." 

Shaw gave him a withering glance and opened the door. "Romano."

"Shaw." Romano handed over a shiny black document case, discretely marked in an even darker shade of black with the emblem of SI:7. Shaw suspected that the trainer bought them in bulk from someplace, because he always seemed to have a collection of them for every single document that made its way into his lair. His habit of accessorizing himself with things that were intended to look dangerous was a bit of a joke to the Uncrowned, but it seemed to impress all the new rogue trainees. 

The document case, predictably, held a mere four sheets of paper. Romano was never one for efficiency when showmanship could be employed. Shaw glanced up and quirked an eyebrow.

"King wants to see you. Privately." Romano looked pointedly toward Fairwind, his expression seeming to suggest that the pirate needed to be decorating a jail cell in some sub-sub-basement of the Stockades. 

"Where and when?" .

"The Situation Room. Thirty minutes."

He rubbed his hand over the two week growth of stubble on his face and considered his options. Anduin didn't see appearance as important; he was more focused on words and actions than looks. But there were standards to uphold if you were Stormwind's Spymaster. Thirty minutes was enough time for a very quick shave at the barber shop and a change of clothes at his house. He scanned the first page of letters and then paused at a single name. "FINduin?"

Romano shrugged. "I didn't name him. I don't name fish."

There was some debate about how intelligent murlocs were. Shaw's personal opinion was that if something could organize gangs to successfully raid ships and towns, it was a good idea to treat it as both intelligent and dangerous. Romano treated other races -- including the elves -- as being intellectual inferiors. Of course, he treated the rest of humanity as if it was his intellectual inferior -- though he'd been more respectful around the Uncrowned Champion, Taoshi, after she turned the tables and sapped him when he tried to attack her. Shaw closed the case with a nod. "Thirty minutes. See you there."

"The king also sent something for Captain Flynn.." Romano held out a neatly folded note. It was a petty gesture, waiting until he was leaving to pass along the other message and then handing the letter to Shaw instead of offering it to Flynn diectly. Shaw opened it, read it in a single glance, and then held it out to Flynn, who eyed it as if it was weeks old fish.

"What's that supposed to be? An IOU?"

"A document pass. To the Royal Library and archives. Directs librarian Donal Tovald to help you locate any book you wish to read, including books at Ironforge. You could use it while we're in this meeting."

Flynn's feet hit the floor with an audible thump as he rocketed out of the chair. "Books!" It was the hoarse whisper of a man who's seen an unimaginable treasure. He grabbed the sheet of paper, glanced at it, and then looked back at Shaw, eyes rounded with surprise. "Books, Mathias. Books!"

Shaw methodically slipped a pair of daggers into a hidden sheath in his cuirass. "If you don't hurry and get dressed, someone will beat you to the library and read up the words before you can get to them."

********

Sarisse Landrow flexed her cramped fingers and sharpened the point of her pencil again. The king was fiddling with the game board as he talked, and she was beginning to think of the thing as a minor character in a play. He was a strange mixture of child and man, who talked serious business and empire while toying with a board game. He never seemed to be far from one of the setups, and she wondered if there was some sort of invisible opponent he played against. She'd have to ask him one day and put that down in the records.

The next few hours were going to be a challenge. There were now two murlocs in the castle; the strangely named Finduin that they'd be meeting soon and one called Sir Finley Mrrgglton. After talking with the other librarians, she decided that she wan't going to try and transcribe Nerglish. She'd stick to what was being said in Common.

The king had just finished talking with Spymaster Shaw, going over what he knew. She'd tuned that conversation out, using the time to correct some of her notes. It was hard to write carefully when the conversation flowed quickly and her careful handwriting devolved into scribbles within a few minutes. There had to be a better way of taking notes. Maybe the gnomes had some sort of solution. She'd have to ask.

The king set a last game piece on his board and glanced at Spymaster Shaw. "Anything else?" 

"Well, yes. Point of curiosity, sir. How did you know Flynn would like a library pass?" 

Anduin shrugged. "You told me. It was in your report, Shaw. You said that when he was handed the contract for Jaina's removal, he leafed through it, reading it in a minute or so and gave a summary of what was on each page as he read it." 

"I don't make the connection."

"According to your dossiers, Fairwind was a gutter rat who had almost no formal education -- yet he flipped through a twenty page legal contract and summarized it it in under a minute. That means he reads as fast as I do. A hundred page book would last only an hour or less, and he could read his way through an entire shelf of my library in a week. He's hungry for words, thirsty for information. What better treasure could anyone offer?"

Shaw frowned. "But you didn't give him a permanent pass."

"Not yet. You don't sit a starving man in front of a buffet and tell him to pick something. Give him some basic nourishment, then once he isn't starving, open up the smorgasbord."

"I ...see."

"And now that we've settled that, shall we go see what this Finduin wants?"

"Certainly." Shaw's smile was smooth and catlike. "By the way, per your suggestion, I've decided to change the code name that we use for you."

"Good. Always hated that one. What's the new one?"

"I'm going with the one that Sully the Pickle suggested."

Anduin threw back his head and laughed. "Well played, Spymaster Shaw. I accept." He strode out of the room, his cape swinging jauntily from his shoulders, Shaw at his heels.

Landrow frowned after them. "I thought his code name is The White Pawn?" she muttered, glancing over at Tony Romano. "At least, that's what we've got in the history files."

"It was. His father gave him the code name long ago. It's been his official designation. He always hated it. Asked Shaw to change it after he became king. But everyone knew him as White Pawn, and we sort of left it."

"Okay. And the new name is actually an old name given him by ... Sully the Pickle?" 

"Yes. In Pandaria."

She glanced questioningly at him, holding her pencil in readiness.

He arched an eyebrow. "Cheeky Little Bugger." 

From down the hallway, they heard Shaw's voice. "Of course, if you promise to not mind control my operatives who are guarding you or gallop away from your escort, your Majesty, I *might* be persuaded to drop the word 'little'."

"You're a prince among men, Shaw. A prince among men.."


	3. Theme and Variations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Finduin of the Grimscale tribes has a request for the High King of the Alliance, and Anduin finds himself treading in very dangerous diplomatic waters. Is a necrolyte really building another army or is this all a diversion for something larger?
> 
> The king wants to know. So does Shaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Mice for feedback and spellchecking!

The tiny armor-clad murloc tadpole on the table top managed an awkward bow as Shaw followed Anduin into the Green Reception Room and mumbled a question in Nerglish to the grotesquely costumed night elf beside him. There was a muttered answer and the tadpole turned his bright blue eyes toward Anduin.

"H'nganghgluhn?"

Another mutter from the costumed King Mrgl-Mrgl and Finduin slouched into a crouch, tilting his head to look curiously at Anduin and Shaw.

The Archdruid Lathorius, a white-haired kal'dorei dressed in a long blue kilt and feathers and very little else, bowed deeply, "Your Majesty."

Anduin seated himself as Romano and Landrow arrived, trailed by a second murloc, the legendary Sir Finley Mrrgglton. "Please be seated. Archdruid, I'm told you have urgent business to discuss." 

Shaw took up his usual station, standing just behind the king's left shoulder more out of habit than any need to protect him from murlocs or strangely dressed druids here in the depths of Stormwind keep. The king was hardly helpless. Nowadays, Anduin's combat practice was limited to sword and dagger exercises since his spell attacks were simply too strong for anyone to withstand. The last time he tried a Holy Fire smite on a target dummy, the weapons master had to replace the entire line of practice targets. The grass still hadn't recovered.

The Archdruid gingerly accepted a chair as King Mrgl-Mrgl picked up the tiny tadpole and placed him carefully on the little table beside his chair. The two night elves exchanged glances and the Archdruid cleared his throat nervously and Mrgl-Mrgl muttered something in Nerglish. 

Finduin glanced down at Mrgl-Mrgl, who replied in a rapid-fire mutter of Nerglish. He blinked and then turned back towards the humans, regarding them with startlingly blue eyes and nodded solemnly at Sir Finley. Drawing himself up to his full six inch height he declaimed something that sounded to Shaw's ears like, "Mrr-lalarrrlalalrrrlmmmmalalal-al-bla-lalalaaaaaa-Mrrgalala. Mgraaaargh. Gllalaala."

Sir Finley Mrrgllton adjusted his monocle and looked at the assembled humans. "I have been given permission to translate. The young tadpole, Prince Finduin of the Ghostfin kingdom of the Grimscales, greets his most Royal Majesty and thanks him for this audience. Prince Finduin has come to discuss a matter of great importance to his kindom and yours. " He glanced at the tadpole and then added, "Although I think he may be overstating the situation when he calls his tribe a 'kingdom.'"

Anduin steepled his fingers, a pose that Shaw associated with the king's "I'm going to let you talk and see what happens" strategy. The two druids were clearly nervous about the whole thing and they'd also clearly drilled the little tadpole in correct court ettiquette -- but not in how to handle a sword. With any luck, little Finduin wouldn't cut off any appendages before the day was out. 

More lengthy gurgling. "Would Your Majesty like a word-for-word translation or a summary?"

"I will leave that to your judgment, Sir Finley." 

Finley's fin-spines stiffened and turned a pinkish color, and Shaw thought that the murloc looked pleased. "Very well. In brief, the Ghostfins tried to model themselves after human and elven kingdoms, believing that this would make them more successful. Prince Finduin's father, Murigan, brought in some of the most talented artisans to help try and make some of the inventions they saw elves and dwarves using. The best artisan was a Blindlight Oracle named Glrrm, who could forge using magic. He made a sword and armor for King Murigan, based on what we were told about his Majesty's father. This is the armor that the prince wears."

Shaw glanced at over at Sarisse Landow, who was diligently transcribing the conversation. He'd have to get copies from her later to be added to SI:7's files. Murlocs, gnolls, and nagas were considered marginally sentient, but lately there had been more cases of individuals who appeared to be as powerful and as intelligent as some of the Heroes... and perhaps even more intelligent than some of the self-styled Heroes of the Alliance. It was something to keep an eye on.

The murlocs gurgled at each other for a moment, then Sir Finley's spines turned red and he gave a gesture that was answered by another burst of speech. Mrgl-Mrgl stood suddenly and added something in fluent Nerglish that made them both pause. Finley shook his head, but Mrgl-Mrgl nodded, apparently standing his ground.

Sir Finley pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and nervously cleaned his monocle. "During the time of Arthas' rule as Lich King, the mur'ghouls... undead murlocs were created by one of the necrolords. The Lich King chose a leader for them that he named Gillvanis, apparently as a mockery or an insult to Sylvanis. Like Sylvanis, she is now some sort of... h'ngarah..."

"Banshee," King Mrgl-Mrgl said.

"As you say; a banshee. She is known to be in association with a Deathwhisper necrolyte - one of Saron's nameless minions -- and they have been exceedingly diligent in their efforts to create their own army. They work in locations where murlocs come into conflict with others. Bounties have been posted on our people and then after yours exterminate them, Gillvanis and the necrolyte resurrect them to serve her."

Anduin glanced at Shaw, who shook his head. "We've never heard of her," he replied. "We have seen reports of occasional murloc incursions in Quel'Thalas, but nothing big. There's nothing about the mur'ghouls having a leader."

There was another longer exchange that left Sir Finley's back spines drooping and the color of dried blood. He sighed and eyed the others. "Prince Finduin says that she is dashedly clever and powerful, and with the necrolyte's backing she has been unstoppable. She had the prince's father killed in order to obtain the sword and armor that the prince now has. Although Prince Finduin could not save his father, he did manage to foil the rest of Gillvanis' plans. What he could not stop was her raid on his palace. They captured Glrmm and he has been ... persuaded... to make a dagger for her out of a very small sliver of what was once the blade called Frostmourne. She calls it 'Cold Hungerer' and like Frostmourne it eats souls and resurrects bodies. They fear what this power might bring."

Ice crawled down Shaw's spine and there was a sudden intake of breath from Romano. Anduin began softly drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair. "Do any of you have an idea of big her army of mur'ghouls is?" he asked quietly.

"More than five thousand were reported gathering around Gishan Caverns, according to the prince's former Spymaster," Mrgl-Mrgl replied. "He thinks their frst target will be Nazjatar." 

"What else did their Spymaster report?"

"They don't know what information she had. She died last week -- a most unpleasant death at the claws of the makrura. Whatever she knew died with her."

Anduin nodded and his fingers stilled. "This is quite a lot to take in. I'm afraid that I don't have any extra forces I could lend the prince at this moment, and our Heroes and Champions are still being recalled," he said after a moment.

There was another exchange in Nerglish. Sir Finley turned back towards him. "The prince isn't asking for you to supply him with Heroes because he fears they would only drown. He's asking you to approach the gnomes and mechagnomes to arrange a meeting to talk about devices. He feels that if the request comes from you, it will be taken more seriously."

"Tell me a little more about this."

More Nerglish. "He wants to speak to them about obtaining weapons to help his people fight off the mur'ghouls and Gillvanis. He has gold and treasures from many shipwrecks that he's offering in barter. He says they will not need many weapons because he has only three hundred warriors."

The room fell silent and in the sudden stillness, Shaw could hear the distant calls as the guards changed stations. "Three hundred against five thousand is a challenge," Anduin replied. He drummed his fingers briefly, then added, "Please tell the prince that I am very sympathetic to his situation. I'd like to study this further. I'll have my staff prepare quarters for all of you if you'd like to stay here in Stormwind, and I'll speak to you again tomorrow. My secretary will make any arrangements you need."

He rose and strode toward the door, calling "Shaw, you're with me." 

********

Anduin pulled his gloves and coat off as soon as he entered the study, tossing them carelessly onto a chair by the door. He waved his hand at the sideboard, which held several small plates of food and a large carafe. "Help yourself, Shaw. Starfire espresso in the jug, Pandaren tea in the pitcher over there. I don't know about you, but I'm in need of something strong. I wasn't quite ready for an arms race with undead murlocs today." He poured himself a large mug of espresso and stared at it for a long moment, then dumped four teaspoons of sugar in it and stirred vigorously. Cup in hand, he began browsing the books on his shelves as Shaw poured his own drink. 

"Feh. It's not here."

"Sir?"

"I thought I had the Explorer's League book on murlocs. Hmm. I'll get Landrow to look for it." He glanced back at the desk and its neatly stacked sets of paperwork and made a face. "So. What information do you have on murloc movements?"

Shaw shook his head. "I'll have our files checked, but as far as I can tell, nothing at all. If it wasn't for the prince and his little sword, I'd have dismissed it as a traveler's tall tale."

"That's one of the pieces that bothers me. Murlocs mostly imitate. They don't initiate." Shaw expected that the king would go to his Glass Bead board and start working out a set of connections, but instead he ambled over to a u-shaped arrangement of comfortable chairs near the fireplace and sat, slouching over his coffee. "There's no record of them actually making anything other than simple huts and very simple weapons. And suddenly we've got at least one of them who can forge magical weapons. And if the information is right, now a necrolyte has this forgemaster. That's a nightmare scenario."

"There are only a few records of murlocs with magical powers. None, really, with them working with metal." He put his cup down on the table and sat beside the king. "I've got two teams of agents I can put onto fact-finding missions."

"Do it. Everything you can find out." Anduin leaned back and rested his feet on the top of the little coffee table and contemplated his cup. He lifted his head after a moment. "I don't suppose you know offhand how fast they breed? Or when they breed? Or how many offspring they can have in a year?"

"Erm... no." Murloc sexuality had not been high on Shaw's prioritized List of Things To Know -- or Things For SI:7 To Find Out About.

"It's in that book somewhere. I remember reading it. What I'm wondering is how many this Gillvanis can add to her army in a year's time. How long it takes a baby to grow to an adult. How quickly they can grow an army."

Shaw eased himself into one of the chairs. "King Mrgl-Mrgl would know. He seems to have observed them on three continents."

Anduin swung his feet to the floor and stared down into his coffee, his mouth hardened into a tight line. "I've got to have better information, Shaw. How accurate is that 'five thousand' number? Is there really a 'Gillvanis'? How fast are these undead murlocs spreading? They all seem to be truthful, but they're not experts on military matters and troop movements. We can't just go running off wildly based on some rumors. I'm also not really happy about having a group of murlocs that we know nothing about suddenly getting access to all the mechagnome weaponry." 

In the moment, backlit by the light from the window, he looked like a ghost of the old king, his father -- the same high-bridged nose, strong chin, high forehead, frowning down at his cup. His voice took on a razor-sharp edge; brittle and harsh. "How can I keep my people safe, Shaw, when I can't even figure out where the danger is? When I'm not even sure what questions to ask?" 

There was something in the tone of voice that reminded Shaw of Varian's explosive moods, when he'd turn violent and destructive and abusive towards his son and anyone else around him. No one had ever seen Anduin completely lose his temper. It wasn't something that Shaw wanted to see. He leaned forward, moving into Anduin's space until their knees were a few inches apart. "Your majesty...."

Anduin's grimace was a small snarl. He didn't look up.

Shaw shifted until his knee touched the king's knee. "Anduin," he said softly, "none of us know what questions we should be asking. Or if we should be asking questions. We all have to make guesses in the dark and a lot of people live or die by our choices. Your father simply made decisions on the spur of the moment and a lot of them were bad and people -- like the ones in Redridge and Westfall -- took the brunt of it. He ruled by personality, so most people never actually noticed just how badly he ran the kingdom. You're trying to do better and that's an even harder job than making a sudden decision and bullying everyone into thinking you've made the right move."

Anduin turned his head and Shaw was suddenly and intensely aware of just how close they were. He took a quiet breath and held himself still, watching those ice blue eyes, watching the pupils widen from hard pinpoints to a softer expression. After a moment, Anduin's shoulders relaxed. He nodded and leaned back over his cooling cup of coffee. "How fast can you get me some answers?"

And like that, the tension was broken. "How long do you think you can keep the murlocs waiting?" 

"Three days, easily. I can have them help the librarians look for good information on the various tribes. Five, if I can hide two of the books in my library so that they have to get them from Dalaran and from Ironforge. I can also get them busy making lists of what they think they want from Mechagon." He smiled wryly. "I'm good at making paperwork appear."

Shaw chuckled softly. "In five days I can get enough information to confirm some of the Ghostlands situation. And I can take Mrgl-Mrgl back to Nazjatar, check with some of the Heroes and Champions there, and see for myself what's happening at Gishan Caverns."

"Be careful, Shaw. Be very careful. This whole thing feels explosive."


	4. Nazjatar Blues and Grays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mathias Shaw gets saddled with Nazjatar, and the whole zone gets saddled with a Very Grouchy Spymaster.

Nazjatar...

The air was humid enough to bathe in and the whole place positively reeked of dead fish and drying seaweed, mixed with the heavy smell of muddy sea floor. Everything squelched, including the food. Mathias Shaw was reasonably sure that after five hours in Nazjatar his leather armor was squelching too, although he couldn't hear it above the sound of footsteps from his annoyingly cheerful collection of random heroes who were tromping in an annoyingly cheerful way through the grayish muck and beds of dying coral. Over the past hour, his mood had gone from "mildly irritated" to "stabby-stabby" without even pausing at "a mild case of recreational poisoning."

His original plan, to make a quick reconnoiter of the Nazjatar situation in person, had suddenly run afoul of the most intractable tactician on Azeroth -- Anduin Wrynn. The king did have a good point -- that with two areas of concern in Nazjatar, things would go more quickly if he included others on the mission. But when the discussion was over, the idea of being supported by the finely crafted SI:7 team that Mathias had envisioned was in shambles and now Mathias was in the middle of Nazjatar with an untried team consisting of a Waveblade Ankoan of unknown skills, a High Champion holy priest who happened to be the only Hero at the base when they came through the portal, and Flynn Fairwind. He wasn't entirely sure if Anduin's insisting that he take Flynn was due to the man's skills or the fact that they were sharing a bed or if it was simply a clever ploy by the king to make sure that the Kul Tiran wasn't going to wander around Stormwind without Mathias to keep an eye on him. Flynn's company was the only bright spot on the mission.

Currently their task was escorting Mrgl-Mrgl through dreary Nazjatar back to his bar so he could talk to the murlocs and see what he could find out about Gillvanis. Mathias' plan to take flying mounts directly from the base to the bar fell apart during the first few minutes after arriving in Mezzamere. All of the Alliance mounts were currently assigned and unless everyone could summon their own mounts, Mathias would have to settle for an assigned flight to Ashen Strand and a lovely afternoon hike.

And therein lay the big problem. Mathias and the two heroes had the tokens to summon and control extramundane mounts. Mrgl-Mrgl and Flynn didn't. The flight master had been sympathetic but firm, and now they were tromping -- or, rather squishing, toward the village of the Bloodfin murlocs.

Everything here was shaded with gray -- everything but the bright auburn pony tail swishing in front of him. He eyed Flynn's broad shoulders and allowed himself a brief fantasy about what they'd do tonight, once they found a suitable bed, although he wasn't holding out much hope for beds. The base at Mezzamere was currently full with Heroes and mercenaries, so Mrgl-Mrgl offered them a set of rooms at his establishment. Mathias suspected that this meant they'd be bunked down on some sort of oversized sponge slathered with kelp. It seemeed like a better option than a sleeping bag stretched on a slimy sea floor -- but not by much. 

The other party members had somehow managed to spend the past two hours talking about brewing and alcohol. Mathias tuned the conversation out and began scanning the landscape as they passed underneath a broad arch of rock flanked by pieces of shipboard, and finally entered the territory of the Bloodfin murlocs. Mrgl-Mrgl waved his hands and called the others to a halt.

Clicking sounds echoed from all around them and Mathias faded into shadows. Mrgl-Mrgl waved his arms at the surrounding landscape and shouted --or, rather, gurgled -- loudly and the clicks fell silent. There was a babble of Nerglish from all angles, including some voices from overhead and a few that might have been underground. There were more squishing sounds and then the Redfin tribespeople slowly came into the open. One of the larger murlocs who wore bone ornaments waved a club and burbled emphatically at them.

"They are saying that 'big ghosts' showed up two nights ago," Mrgl-Mrgl explained. "Their language isn't terribly complex, so it's hard to figure out what they mean by this. But they're all very upset. I told them you're here to help."

"Glablah" the bone-trimmed murloc said, and pulled a large shell over its head. "Blorlaflafi."

A group of red-finned adults lined up and formed sort of a corridor, spears and sticks pointed toward the travelers. Whatever effect they intended was interrupted when a flock of murloc tadpoles rushed up and danced around asking questions. The ensuing gargling reminded Mathias of toothbrushing hour in the barracks. It was enough to drive a sane man to drink, though he didn't see a sign of anything that looked like a drinking establishment in the cluster of rickety huts that huddled against the rocky outcrops.

Mrgl-Mrgl led them toward the waterwall, where a large and ghostly- looking shark hovered, eyeing them speculatively. He waved at the shark and then at the pool of water in front of him. "Here we are! Dive right in and make yourself at home. There's a spell on the pool that keeps you dry for a minute or so. Well, mostly dry. Don't mind the fishes. They get feisty when they haven't had dinner but you can biff them on their noses and they'll swim right off. And drinks are on me!" 

"Cheers, mate!" Flynn was next, diving into the water with a graceful leaping arch of his body like a dolphin's and was gone with only the barest of splashes. Lucky Bao, the priest, waded in somewhat more sedately, followed by Little Jiang and Mrgl-Mrgl, leaving Shaw on the shore amid many murlocs, contemplating his options. 

"Mglaah?"

Mathias glared at the small and enthusiastic tadpole who was trying to sit on his boot. "Shoo."

"Fleagahlappth."

"Same to you." He stepped forward. A group of large fish hovered near the edge of the water, eyeing him as though he were the Appetizer Du Jour. He glowered at them and growled, "One false move, and every one of you will be on tonight's menu." There was a flutter of fins, but none of them moved forward as he waded into the pond and ducked his head underneath the water. 

The interior of Mrgl's bar continued the theme of "ocean floor muck" in smoky-toned hues with furniture that seemed to be mostly designed by murlocs and for murlocs. Seating and tables consisted of piles of shells, rocks, and other things apparently scavenged from the ocean floor. Several large glowing pearls on tripod stands provided light for the patrons, which included both Alliance and Horde members as well as Ankoan and a number of gill goblins - kelfin, they called themselves. Mrgl-Mrgl's standards on acceptable bar patrons apparently included anyone who could manage to pay for whatever drinks he offered. 

Flynn, predictably, was bouncing around like a hyperactive core hound puppy in an Ironforge bakery. "Woohoo! Mathias! It's a bar!"

"I'm well aware of that. It's called Mrgl's Bar and Grill." 

"It's in desperate need of drinks though. Just like me," he announced as he started examining the rack of bottles behind the bar. "Oooh! Look at that one. No, wait, don't look at it. That stuff's positively foul." Flynn shoved the offending bottle towards the shelf, but Little Jian pulled it out of his hand. 

"That's for murlocs, kelfin, and Ankoan." Jian waved his long barbels at the Kul Tiran, who looked intrigued. " You don't have the right whiskers. Try the striped one instead."

"Jian!" the priest gave a mock scowl to the Ankoan. "Not that one. He needs to try the Short Discussion Cider we made last month with the mage from Drustvar." She reached under the counter for a dark greenish bottle, wiped it off, and handed it to Flynn, who took a gulp and grinned at them. 

"Cheers!"

Mathias leaned over the bar counter and fixed Mrgl-Mrgl with a hard stare. "We were promised rooms. With Kul Tiran sized beds. And showers."

Mrgl-Mrgl bounced as he fished a key from underneath the counter. "Number six. Right rear corner hallway. It's Tauren themed but if you keep the lights off you won't notice." He went back to pouring drinks, leaving Mathias to puzzle out what, precisely, the druid meant by that. Flynn was still sampling liquors. It wouldn't hurt to sit, nibble some seaweed snacks, and glower at the room for a bit.

He eased himself onto the rocks near a large glowing pearl beside the bar, where he could watch the entire room with a wall at his back. The room was a little larger than he originally thought, and whatever problems the Horde and Alliance had with each other, this area was neutral territory. Two spellcasters - Tauren and troll - were doing something to one of the glowing pearls as a nearby human in wildly mismatched bits of armor started muttering to his mail-clad companion. Two murlocs were arguing over a game board as a kelfin seemed to be taking bets from the onlookers. In an alcove toward the back, a Dranei -- paladin, by the look of the armor-- was murmuring something to a goblin spellcaster of some sort. Heroes were notoriously indiscriminate about bedmates. He silently wished them luck, even as he made a mental note to check for information leaks in Nazjatar.

A murloc in some sort of seaweed skirt wandered up to him with a tray of drinks. "Frablalalal?"

He waved a hand. "No, but thanks," and the bar-murloc carefully placed a snail on the rock beside him and wandered off, burbling to itself. He eyed the little animal suspiciously as it extended a couple of eyestalks and then began to slowly make its way toward the wall. A pair of nearby kelfin seemed to be taking bets about how soon it would reach its destination. He glanced back at the human mercenaries who were staring more openly at the Horde spellcasters, eyes narrowed. The sea giant didn't seem to be paying much attention to them.

After a lifetime of serving the Alliance and viewing the Horde as mortal enemies, Mathias was still marginally uncomfortable in an area where both groups mingled indiscriminately. Missions seemed cleaner somehow when he was a young operative during the Great Wars; when the evil that he dealt with wore a non-human face. The Defias revolts, where "good" and "evil" wore the same face and where what was "right" was often confused with "who had the power", taught hard lessons about enemies who looked just like everyone else and who could even have been someone who shared your bed... like Edwin Van Cleef. 

Flynn was still at the bar, helping himself to something in a tiny yellowish-green bottle when a shout at the door-pond announced the arrival of a kaldorei and two trolls carrying casks of some sort. As they came near Mrgl-Mrgl, patrons crowded around, waving their cups. There were no markings on the containers indicating 'hazardous substances' or 'for external use only'; Mathias could only hope that the effects of the brew wouldn't be too permanent. Still, it might be safer to make sure that Flynn's side of the bed was the one closest to whatever bathroom facilities came with their bedchamber. Light only knew what would happen when the tough Kul Tiran constitution met the questionable substances of Mrgl-Mrgl's brews.

Mathias scanned the room again. Three gamblers were arguing heatedly about something and the crowd's attention was shifting from the game board to the quarrel. A very drunk orc was trying to teach the sea giant bouncer some sort of song. The dranei and goblin had left their alcove, presumably in search of someplace with more dry flat surfaces and less singing. He turned back toward the group around the gamblers in time to see one of the kelfin shove a goblin and grab at a coin one of the mercenaries was holding.

"Dakk' prebb!i" Two other kelfin appeared and there was the bright glint of a blade. Mathias snapped to alert. The sea giant unfolded himself slowly as the shoving match near the game table spilled over into the central part of the room. One of the murlocs slapped at the hand of the knife-wielder and the blade went spinning off into the muck. There was a howl of outrage and a tangle of shoving limbs. Someone threw a punch and then furniture began flying as the sea giant waded into the melee. There was a shout from Flynn and he saw one of the trolls swinging a fist at the Kul Tiran. Mrgl-Mrgl ran down the length of the bar, yelling in several languages.

Mathias sighed and stood up. He looked over at Lucky Bao and gave a brief nod. She smiled wearily at him. Little Jian yelled something and he and Mrgl-Mrgl ducked behind the bar.

The Pandaren pushed herself erect and raised her arm toward the sky. There was just enough time for Mathias to close his eyes and brace his legs before the bolt of white light thundered down from the heavens and struck the floor. The room rocked lightly and everything grew still.

He opened one eye. The bar's patrons were sprawled on the floor in front of the priest, who was regarding them with a serene countenance. She grabbed the collar of the largest Alliance mercenary and hauled him to his feet.

"Now that I have everyone's attention," she said quietly, "I want the fighting ended. It spills all the brews that we are working on and damages the furniture. If you want to break something, go back to your home and break things there. This is not a place for quarrels." Then she released him and he stumbled to his feet as she sat, tucking her hands on her ample stomach. The pulsing white lines on the floor faded.

His companion still had some fight left in her. She staggered to her feet with a growl, pulled her mace from her baldric, and started toward the Pandaren. A large blue hand stopped her in her tracks. "Don' be a fool, Alliance." a tall troll woman said quietly. "We be only Heroes. Dat priest dere is a Grand Champion an' she can do a lot more dan jus' heal ya. She might mind control ya right into da sharks. An' furdermore, in da corner is a Master rogue. Dere be only nine lving rogue Masters an da color of da hair suggests you be lookin' at one Mathias Shaw. He could cut you into giblets between one breath an the next usin jus' one han's an not break a sweat. You should pay you bar tab nicely an go back an sleep t'ings off."

Mathias folded his arms and glared. She lowered her head, jaw clenched, and scowled back. Her companion shrugged and tapped her arm. "Les' go. I'm done here. Don't need ta drink with that kind anyway." She looked at him and then back at Mathias before turning and leaving by the pool. 

The tension in the room melted and Mathias allowed himself to relax his guard slightly.

Mathias gave a nod of acknowledgement to the troll mage and turned back to Flynn, who was easing himself off the floor. He weaved his way to Mathias. "What in the tides was that?"

The spymaster unfolded himself from the rock and started walking toward their designated bedroom. "Holy priest spell."

Flynn glanced back toward the bar room. "Do they do it often?"

"Smiting things? Only when attacked. Not as often as I'd like for them to do it." He spotted the number six plaque and tried the lock. The door slid open silently and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Flynn regarded him with a half-smile and gently brushed his fingers against Mathias' cheek. "And would you like for me to do it, sweetling?" He leaned in and nibbled at an earlobe. "We can trade off who does the smiting and who does the attacking."


	5. Allegro con Tropical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mathias and Flynn are investigating a possible invasion of the undead in Nazjatar... from Mrgl-Mrgl's bar and grill. And then the troll loa show up.

Forty-eight hours.

Mathias Shaw could feel time, like coins of silver, dropping through his hands into the darkness and gone beyond reach. He'd trained himself to be aware of time as both an assassin and a spy, because being able to tell the difference between fifteen seconds and thirty seconds could mean the difference between life and death. So he lay in the early morning dark, feeling Flynn curled up warmly and breathing softly against his side, and smiled and stroked the man's face very gently, stealing handfuls of seconds to savor.

He had 48 hours left before he had to be back in Stormwind to deliver his findings to the king. Take into account the time to travel to the portals and then get from the portals to the keep, there were forty six hours and fifteen seconds that belonged to king and crown. But a full minute and 45 seconds of this moment in time belonged to Mathias alone, and they were more precious than all the time that had fled down the long years before... before Flynn.

He took a deep breath and knuckled the sleep out of his eyes. 

"Rise and shine already?" Flynn stretched, catlike, and turned to smile at him.

"Afraid so. With luck, Mrgl will have some information from the murlocs for me." He rubbed his hand across his jaw, feeling the scrape of whiskers and sat up. Shower, shave, breakfast, pack the gear -- "Jiang should be ready to go in about an hour."

A broad hand wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him back down on the bed. "Gives us just enough time, then...." 

And Mathias Shaw took another handful of minutes from time-locked duty.

*****

Breakfast time at Mrgl's was like dinner time at Mrgl's, with more protein and fewer patrons, though the crowd watching the board game had grown slightly. The morning shift bartender, a dark Tauren with a pale blaze on her nose, nodded pleasantly as she handed a Dranei mercenary a drink. In the main room, two murloc servers were weaving through the tables, offering the patrons a choice of flatbreads with tiny cups of dipping sauces and vegetables. Mathias selected a plate from one of the wandering servers and made his way to his favorite vantage point near the bar. 

It wasn't his usual sort of breakfast, which was normally frybread and coffee from the Pig and Whistle, eaten hastily and sometimes absent-mindedly among the stacks of paper on his office desk. Until the recent campaign in Kul Tiras, he hadn't spent much time away from his office in SI:7 headquarters. Part of fieldwork lay in thoroughly exploring an area, something that Mathias had always enjoyed. While he wasn't that enamored of gray-hued Nazjatar, it was in some ways an improvement over being office-bound for a few days.

He dipped a corner of the bread in the green sauce, eyed it, and took a bite. It tasted faintly of the sea and salt and something that might have been squid. It almost certainly wasn't lethal, given that there weren't any reports of Heroes suddenly falling dead or ill after eating here. At a bare minimum it was probably as risky as eating in Old Town Stormwind.. 

Mrgl-Mrgl, predictably, was late. Like many kaldorei and sindorei, he seemed to have a very poor sense of how precious time was, habits gained over thousands of years of youthful immortality. Human lives, to them, were just a blink in time. Now, with the loss of their own immortality, they tried -- and often failed -- to adjust to the idea of aging, of arthritis and other ailments. Many of them seemed to choose war as a form of suicide rather than face decades of decline.

Lucky Bao, the Pandaran priest, emerged from the corridor of sleeping rooms, fully dressed and carrying a backpack. He waited as she looked over the plates of food and then sighed and picked up a drink before signaling her to join him.

"Spymaster?"

He gestured at her ring. "I noticed that you had a mount token."

She nodded. "I've got a cloud serpent."

That was a bit of luck, as far as Mathias was concerned. The Pandaren cloud serpents were notoriously expensive to outfit, but had harness attachments that made it easier to carry extra gear. "After you've eaten, ride over to Mezzamere and see if they've got a tethered mount we can use for Flynn. There's a number of places I want to investigate, and it'll be easier if he can ride on something." The idea of leaving Flynn alone with Mrgl-Mrgl for 36 hours to concoct new drinks for the bar was not terribly comforting. 

She nodded briskly. "I want to get some snacks for myself while I'm at the base. Do you need me to pick up anything else while I'm there?"

"For us? No, though you can check on the status of the diving gear and see if it's ready to go if we need it. Unless there's a mount for Flynn, you can wait for us there. We should be along in another two hours, if the druid shows up soon."

"My family were fishermen. I'll give the gear a once-over and make sure that all the parts are there and that the breath spells on the gear are fresh. Wouldn't want to end up with a suddenly un-spelled helmet five thousand yards from air." She finished her drink and set the cup on the edge of his table, gave a cheerful wave and headed for the entrance pool.

One of the murloc servers ambled up to him. "Boss will be here in a bit. I think he's mending one of the fins on his costume but don't tell him I told you," she -- or perhaps he -- said in unaccented Common. "If you need something, just shout for 'Kelpie' and I'll come take care of you." He -- or maybe she; Mathias still wasn't sure -- bobbed a sort of nod and wandered off. 

Exactly four minutes and thirty-five seconds later, Mrgl-Mrgl emerged from a cave area behind the main bar. The Tauren handed him a plate of food and utensils and Kelpie followed him, carrying two mugs of the bar's coffee brew. He pulled a table and chair next to Mathias' rock and sat as Kelpie cleared the empty plate and cups on Mathias' table and then waddled off. 

Mrgl-Mrgl handed one of the cups to Mathias. "I hope you take it black?"

"I can drink it any way that it's offered." Anyone who did undercover work had to be very careful about regional tastes and habits and couldn't afford to be very picky about any food or drink. Refusing a local specialty was often seen as rude, and informants usually were less eager to cooperate with anyone they thought looked down on them. Mrgl-Mrgl probably wasn't easily offended, but habits died hard and Mathias, like most of SI:7, was cautious about accepting heavily spiced food and drink. "Did you find out anything about Finduin's claims?"

The spines of Mrgl-Mrgl's costume deflated. "Well, yes. I talked with the Deepfins and the Bloodfins last night. Things are truly awful."

Mathias tensed slightly. "In what way?" 

"I don't know how much they told you about Nazjatar, but the nagas have gone crazy since Azshara opened up the seas. They were always slavers who raided murloc villages, but they would just run in, take captives, kill a few, and run off. Now they keep coming back and hitting the same places. but this time it's to kill and not to enslave. They kill everyone and if they're driven off, they will come back until the entire village is dead. They take all the bodies with them when they retreat."

"But isn't that the way nagas usually operate?" He'd reviewed what information SI:7 had on the nagas before they left Stormwind. There hadn't been much in the way of new information added since Nazjatar opened to the sky. 

"No. That's what's scaring the murlocs. The naga completely destroyed two Deepfin settlements in the last month -- and Finduin's tribe was completely killed off just two days ago. The ones who managed to survive by hiding ran away and joined the Grimscale tribe. He has no tribe or family now. No one to perform the New Moon dances with him. Grimscales won't have him. He'll be too _different_ for the Bloodfins." 

Mrgl-Mrgl folded his hands together, and half-slumped over his breakfast. "Finduin risked everything to save his people. Now there's nothing and nobody left, even if that help showed up right this second."

Mathias was not a believer in portents and omens but something in the druid's voice chilled him. "Maybe another tribe will take him in."

"No. They won't." Mrgl-Mrgl sighed and took a bite of food. maneuvering the morsel carefully around the teeth of his costume. "The tribes won't care. I can't think of anyone who'd care. The Archdruid only agreed to help after I went on and on about how the Deepfins around here say they've seen the lich and that there's undead everywhere. He doesn't care. DEHTA doesn't care." 

He was silent for a moment and then added, "Murlocs are intelligent. They have a complicated culture. They have a lot to teach us. But to all the other races they're just mindless brutes to hunt for revenge, sport, and _food_ " His voice was bitter; savage. "How can any sentient group actually manage to grow into a civilization if they're constantly hunted from place to place? It's a diaspora of the damned. They can't even keep traditions from one generation to the next because everyone wants to exterminate them."

He didn't seem to expect an answer, but Mathias set his cup down and sat with folded hands, listening. Mrgl-Mrgl sighed again and shook his head. "Anyway... the trouble is mostly on the south side of Nazjatar. Lots of undead there. More than they can count. The Bloodfin that are still alive are leaving those areas of Nazjatar." He stabbed at a morsel with his fork. "And that was all I learned."

"Is this the area closer to the Gishan Caverns?"

He twisted his body to look upwards at Mathias. "Yes. There's a shallow ocean trench that runs from that area toward the Caverns." 

"Thank you. You've been very helpful. We'll be leaving within the next hour or so to go have a look."

Mrgl-Mrgl looked up briefly. "Oh. One of the troll Heroes... a mage. She wanted to talk to you." He pointed to a distant table. "Says it's important."

"Thank you. I'll do that now."

Mrgl-Mrgl slumped back, looking defeated as Mathias strolled to the bar and refilled his drink, taking time to assess the surroundings and the Horde mage. The activity in the bar hadn't changed much and although the patrons knew who he was by now, they seemed wary about showing any overt interest in what he was doing. 

The mage was tall, even for a troll, a willowy blue-skinned woman with long white hair braided neatly into a helmet. Not old, at least as far as he could tell, but certainly not young, and smart enough to choose clothing that didn't immediately mark her as a mage. She'd been battle-tested enough that she had been awarded an azerite medallion and competent enough that she had been granted the dragon cloak of a Grand Champion. She sat conspicuously by herself at a table beside a pearl, writing something in a journal. She glanced up and smiled and nodded, as if giving him permission to come over, then looked down again, signaling that the choice to come or stay was his. 

He approached her table but did not sit. "Grand Champion. May your loa smile on you today." 

His accent was not as good as it could be, but she looked up with a grin of pure delight. "I am honored, Master Shaw. So few take the time to learn our language, even with the help of magic." 

He seated himself then, shifting the chair so that his back was to a wall. "A small hobby of mine." He didn't add that being able to understand the major languages of Azeroth made him far more effective as a spy. "I'm told you wanted to speak to me."

"I am Zanliliben of the Zandalari. I am a messenger from Gral, the loa of the sea, who travels far and knows many things. It is he who wishes to speak with you. You have gazed on him and he knows you. He is the shark that waits in the depths."

So the big ghostly shark hovering outside the waterwall was no true shark or even a ghost, but one of the troll gods. "What would a loa want with me?" 

She shrugged. "I don't know. But he is good and wise he says it will be to your greatest advantage to hear him out."

He leaned back and studied her as he reviewed his options. Troll magics were a recipe for Alliance disaster, and the loa were known to be tricksters and worse. Mathias didn't like dealing with deities in any form. Assassins, with the exception of the trolls, did not worship or follow any particular deity. In his experience, gods were for those who liked black and white answers and firm rules that defined a sort of order onto the chaotic world. But the gods didn't seem to care much for those whose ethics depended on which master they were serving at the moment. Still, the gods could be controlled and killed - even troll gods. 

He gave her a brief nod. "I'll listen to what he has to say." Hopefully Gral wouldn't be one of the long-winded ones.

There was a sudden subtle stir in the bar and patrons began edging away just as he became aware of a very slight bluish tinge at the edge of his vision. Mathias gave her a wry smile, turned his head, and found himself nose-to-snout with the ghostly image of a very large shark. "The loa Gral, I presume."

"Yes, little landwalker." The voice resounded in his head. 

"If you want to talk, I would prefer to keep our speech between the three of us. Perhaps we can talk... outside?" It was a risky gamble, but he wasn't sure how you could keep conversations with a god private unless you happened to be in an area with no one for miles around. Having a bar fight break out in the middle of a tense discussion with a deity could lead to complications. 

"If that is what you worry about, I can help." The loa grinned, an unnerving display of ghostly pointed teeth. He ballooned, expanding to four times his original size, then opened his vast jaws and swallowed Zanliliben, Mathias, and their table. "No one can hear what happens inside a loa. Except, of course, the loa and the ones inside." 

Zanziliben smiled at him and he managed to smile back. "Does he do this often?"

There was a deep chuckle from Gral. "Only for friends, little landwalker. Never fear, they can't see you or hear you right now."

"All right. You have me here." He folded his arms, not coincidentally putting his throwing daggers at his fingertips. "I'm listening."

"You are the High King's dog, are you not, here to hunt out the story of the lich and the undead."

The smug analogy irritated him. He had 45 hours and three minutes till he was due back in Stormwind and the loa seemed to want to play word games with flowery analogies. He smoothed down his mustache and twirled the end to a point. "I am no dog to come to his Majesty's whistle. I... am his springpaw lynx that hunts in the shadows. And like the lynx, I leave if I don't find what I need." 

"And you eat annoying fishes, eh?" There was a gurgling nose that might have been a snicker. "Well, hunter in the shadows, you are looking to find a lich who is turning murlocs into an army. I know where it is. I am sending my champion to kill this same lich. If you will help her deliver death to him, I will give you and your retinue quick transportation to his location."

Zanliliben smiled faintly. "I can get rid of his wards, but I can't do that while fighting off his warriors and avoiding his attacks. I've tried but there's simply too many of them."

Mathias frowned. "This area is full of Horde Heroes, Champions, and Grand Champions. Why you and why me?"

"Because I knew the lich in life... and loved him." She glanced down at the table briefly. "If he must die, let it be at my hand. My loa and I made a bargain with the loa of the lich, that his death will be my task and not the task of another of the Horde. But they agree that having Alliance help is not a violation. Therefore, my loa and I are asking you if you would come." 

Mathias frowned. "There's another loa involved?" One god was bad enough, but two gods hinted at a lot more trouble.

She nodded and drew a sigil in the air. The area darkened and there was a cold and dead smell as if of dust and old bones. A voice, smooth as chocolate, rang out. "Well, now... is it time for ol' Bwonsamdi to join the party?"


	6. Mezzo Forte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The loas want to make a deal with Shaw. Mrgl-Mrgl goes Full Metal Anthropologist (sorry/not sorry)

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am called Bwonsamdi. Ya may have heard of me." A ghostly shape began forming; the image of a long-tusked male troll that hovered in mid-air. "Some call me da loa of graves or da keeper of souls or da lord of death. We meet at last, Mathias Shaw, I have long admired ya work." 

The loa hovered in front of him, wreathed in tendrils of blue smoke, framed in pale bone. Thin flat arcs spirals of gray-violet energy spiraled around his wrists. Mathias nodded briefly. "Bwonsamdi." Did knives work against loas? Some of the trolls had been killing loas lately. He touched his hidden daggers lightly for luck.

The loa's mouth twitched in the faintest of smiles, as if he knew what Mathias was doing. "Ya look like ya might have some concerns, eh?" he said, gesturing broadly "Not ta worry, Spymaster. Dis ting is not about you. We know dat you be going ta look for a lich an' undead murlocs. So ya mission be one dat we be willing ta help with because we want ta see da same tings to happen. Da soul of dat lich belong to me an' it's past time his death is due. De mage be goin' because she has somethin' of mine ta place on his body after da death to make sure he gets where he's supposed ta go."

Zanliliben held out a carved bone knife. "He was my husband. They killed him and raised him as a lich. He did many terrible things and although I did not do them, I feel the weight of the horror of what he has done. I have asked the loas to help me set this right, and that is how I am here. Once he dies, I stab this into his chest and no magic can ever raise him again. His zombies are weak. When they lose their master, they will wander and not attack."

Gral's voice echoed around them. "If you will help us, Spymaster Shaw, I will provide swift transportation for your group to the place of the liches and bring you back here safely."

"An I, Bwonsamdi, will do a favor for you. Just ask." The blue glow of those eyes intensified for a second, as if the loa winked. 

Mathias rolled the shape of the offer over in his mind, testing it for soundness and traps. There was no chance at all that he would call on Bwonsamdi for a favor. Treaties with the Horde meant a limited trust of some members, but treaties didn't include spirits, demi-gods, titans, demon lords, or loas, all of whom seemed to have their own morals and goals. While transport sounded good, it would put them under the complete control of a loa, and he was not one to give that kind of power to anyone. And an offer of a favor from a trickster death god was something to step lightly around.

Then there was also the question of the troll mage. She was a Grand Champion and although the type of armor she could wear and cast spells in was relatively flimsy compared to his leathers, she would be a powerful opponent if she turned on them. He could, of course, best her in a fight and Lucky Bao, as a holy priest of equal rank could at least match her, but she could overpower the rest. 

He eyed her as he smoothed his moustache, thinking. His mission was to investigate only; an army of five thousand needed more firepower than a five person team, even if they were all Grand Champions. But if the undead were simply mind controlled tools, as the mage was suggesting, a quick takedown of the lich who controlled them would be an easy way to eliminate a possible threat to Nazjatar and Kul Tiras and save Wyrmbane a few headaches trying to figure out how to stretch the already thinned 7th Legion army to strike at another location.

One of the big unknown factors would be the strength of the lich himself. The monster was certainly more powerful than a Grand Champion mage but the fact that Zanliliben _had_ survived meant that it wasn't as powerful a foe as Arthas or Gul'dan had been and a much smaller team could dispose of it before it became a larger threat. 

But that still left a lot of unknowns in the plan, and Mathias Shaw didn't like unknowns.

His own team was full of unknowns. The priest was at least competent but there was no telling just how well she operated with the others. The Waveblade was a complete unknown. Flynn was.... well, Flynn. Dashing, handsome, a brawler as well as a lover and able to respond quickly to situations and hold his own in a fight against most people, though not at the level of a Grand Champion. There were a lot of things he was willing to risk. Flynn Fairwind wasn't one of them.

"We'll take your mage, but we'll use our own mounts, thank you." 

The loa rumbled softly. "My mage will give you a totem, then. She knows how to summon me, but if you need my help, break the fishbone and I will appear. You may not need it, but you might want it sometime. And if you succeed in killing this lich who is destroying the murlocs who protected my temple, I will guarantee safe passage for any ship you are on." 

Zanliliben glanced up at the "roof" of the shark and then reached into a decorated pouch that she wore at her waist. She held out a thin tube, inscribed in Zandalari. "The bone is inside this tube to keep it safe."

Mathias took it carefully and tucked it into a slot in his corset. "Thank you." A second object; a bone whistle that looked as if it had been made from a human fingerbone clattered to the table beside him.

"An if you need ol' Bwonsamdi, just whistle." there was a deep chuckle from the loa.

Mathias eyed the object sourly and wished that he knew more about the troll loas. His basic instincts told him that there was far more behind Bwonsamdi's offer than met the eye although there was no particularly obvious threat involved. He was tempted to reject the offer, but there might be a hidden danger in rejecting the loa's present. The betters option might be a middle ground; take the object but not use it and at the earliest convenience lock it up someplace where it couldn't be used -- like dropping it into the heart of a volcano. But it wasn't wise to reveal that much of a plan to a powerful spirit.

He picked up the whistle in his gloved hands. "Your mage appears to be very competent. Hopefully we won't need to trouble you," he said with what he hoped looked like a polite smile.

The loa cackled. "If dat be your preference, so be it. But Bwonsamdi always pays his debts, don't ya doubt it."

It might have been a promise. It might have been a threat. Mathias Shaw kept his face very neutral and nodded politely to the smoke-wreathed image.

===========

Mrgl-Mrgl turned back to the bar and slapped the towel down. "Fairwind, there is no point in haranguing me about this. If you don't believe that Spymaster Shaw and Grand Champion Zanliliben are there inside the mouth of Gral, then go ask anyone who saw it. Either order a drink or go talk to someone else." He doubted that the man would leave it at that -- humans tended to be very quick-tempered and volatile compared to others. This one had the tall, rangy build typical of maritime Tiragarde-Soundian rather than the heavy-bodied barrel chest of a Drusvarian and they were reportedly good in a fight. Not that he had any intention of getting into a fight with this human or anyone else. After all, he'd been able to convince the Bloodfin to stop staging warfare against the outer territories. How hard could it be to convince a human to act reasonably?

Bar gossip provided a lot of information about him -- matelot to the Spymaster, former pirate, captain of a small trading vessel. He was supposed to be a flirt -- light-hearted and available for any and all bed sports. But Mrgl had seen the way those ocean blue eyes followed the Spymaster and how Flynn turned gradually but constantly toward the place where his companion was as if he was a compass seeking north. Mrgl had seen love in many forms but it had been many years since he'd seen that kind of quiet bonding of souls. One of his patrons had a word, 'bespoken', that meant something made so perfectly for someone that it could only belong to that person and none other. It was a good word for these two; 'bespoken' to each other.

He smiled, though the other could not see it through the guise he wore, and reminded himself to be patient. As Alurgagh of the Winterfins pointed out, six tides before a complete Moon Song could be finished no matter how much the tadpoles complained. A soul-bonded could be forgiven a bit of testiness where their bespoken was concerned.

Fairwind scowled down at Little Jian, a well-known Ankoan blademaster. "Thing is, this whole thing makes less sense than a hozen poem. I'm going out to take a look and see if I can spot him. You stay here."

Mrgl reached out and touched the human with his gloved hand. "Don't do that. He really is here. If you go, he will be upset and angry. Too many teams fall into disaster when one decides to strike out to investigate something."

Little Jian sidled into position, standing between the Kul Tiran and the door. "The boss wanted us to wait. He said so last night. Wait here and we leave from here." Mrgl noticed that the Ankoan glanced toward his hunting tack pouch, probably making sure he had enough of the proper sized sleep darts to take the man down safely.

This would not end well. The Ankoan companions who traveled with Champions to make sure they kept the laws of the wavespeakers sometimes needed to restrain the enthusiastic would-be heroes. Hunting darts had provided a cheap and flexible solution by simply putting the landwalker to sleep so that they could be moved out of the vulnerable area. The Spymaster, however, knew about poisons and would doubtless be offended that someone had tranquilized his bespoken.

Fairwind was digging in his pockets. "Got something to write on? I'm going to leave a note."

Little Jian touched him, mouth barbels curling slightly, a sign that he was becoming agitated. "Are you trying to go look for your _sennu_? Do stop and listen to what we tell you." He pointed to the huge opaque shape of the shark loa. "Your _sennu_ sent your priest on an errand earlier. He is inside the mouth of Gral. And our helpful mage is in there with him."

Kelpie put a tray of dirty dishes on the bar. "That mage is a good one. She notices things. The others don't like her. I hear them whispering about her man. Witch doctor, he was. They blame her for what he did."

Mrgl gestured toward the immobile loa. "Your bespoken will be safe inside the loa with our mage. I am sure Zanliliben hasn't turned him into a sheep. Yet. Well, not unless he provoked her. Does he provoke many people, your bespoken?" 

"What?" Fairwind looked up with a slight frown, as if he wasn't sure whether he was being teased or not.

"Nevermind." The skrog at the door pool turned and nodded as Mrgl's fosterling, Murky, emerged from the waters. His armor was unscarred but he held his spear strangely; clutched to his chest as if protecting it. "My ward is here. Kelpie, you've got the bar."

Murky was waiting for him in the office, his fins pale and twitching slightly with anxiety. "The undead ones are near the gate at the edge of the east Coral Forest. I went through the waterwall very quietly like you showed me. I did not get close to the lich but I found a little place where they keep three female tadpoles. They look to be under ten double-tides old. They are made to wear landwalker clothes. The same ones you showed me on the one called Gillvanis." 

He felt a rising tide of sickness. "Replaceable figureheads."

"There is more. They are being fed something. I don't know what it is. They don't talk; they just stand around."

"Tools," he spat. "Little ones being turned into tools for the invasion. If one of them dies, they just replace her with a look-alike and their plot continues."

Murky glanced back at the tap room, his spear still clutched tightly to his chest. "Can we do anything?"

"The loas are sending a group of high heroes to deal with the undead. I'll go with them and rescue the little ones. Go back to Highmountain and prepare the creche. Tell the healers to get ready. We'll have a lot of work ahead of us to undo the harm done to them." He picked up his most recent journal and put it inside a messenger pouch. "And please have the archivist add this to my library, Murky."

The murloc turned it over in his hands. “So much writing,” he said reverently.

“Three hundred and thirty books. A thousand years of study. I rewrite the journals every so often so that there’s more than one copy and so that I can fix some mistakes.” There were lifetimes of research in his notebooks but there were times when he doubted anyone would care to see his discoveries -- the record of tribal languages that were lost, rough drawings of their symbols, lists of names that would never be spoken again, the hidden pathways of the deep that let them travel quickly from one side of Azeroth to the other. It was a record of a death; of a culture that was being killed even as its peoples tried to rise to become equals.

Murky touched the clasp gently. “I hope we can teach all of the little ones to read. Without this treasure, all we have is lost to the riptides.”

“We cannot know the future. We can only fight against oblivion and hope that something survives, because if we do nothing, there is only darkness ahead for us.” He turned back toward the bar as Murky touched the surface of the tide-walking pearl.

\-----

Mrgl was not surprised to find that the long-haired bespoke, Flynn, was still arguing with Jian and the rest of the bar as he walked out of his office. Shorter-lived races tended to want to beat things into compliance rather than negotiate for a longer outcome. It was time to play a delaying trick on the jittery human. "If you still want to leave, we've got some paper that you can use to write a note on," he announced as he walked up to the bar. 

Flynn held out his hand. "Good. Hand it over."

Little Jian eyed him. "Still not sure this is a good idea."

"Do you really think you can stop him?" He selected the most battered receipt book from underneath the counter; a notepad that was still slightly damp from an encounter with a mug of spilled wine. He offered it silently. Flynn eyed it as if it was a suspicious fish and finally took it. "Got anything to write with? Because I seem to be short a pencil or three and I don't fancy writing with blood."

He made an elaborate and time-wasting show of looking for something and eventually produced a pointed stick of charcoal from underneath the bar. It was a very poor tool to use on paper, and he knew it. "Write your note, and we'll hand it to him when the shark loa lets him out. Don't go too far. The Bloodfin won't recognize you as a paying customer just yet and may decide you're lunch." He glanced around the room and waved one of the wandering servers over. "Gleega can go with you. She'll keep the Bloodfin off of you and she speaks Common reasonably well."

Gleega bobbed and looked up at Flynn. "Speak Common good." Flynn appeared to be skeptical of both the charcoal and his guide.

“Is she any good with rampaging sea skrogs? Because I’ve seen them and I’m not good with them, I’ll have you know,” Flynn grumbled as he tried to write on the damp paper. “Do you have anything drier to write on?”

“Terribly sorry. It’s the humidity in here. I’ve got some parchment in the office. I’ll just go get it. Wait here.” And _that_ would keep the human occupied for another few minutes. He looked quickly at the loa, which appeared to be growing more translucent. He turned back to Flynn. “I think something’s happening.”

They could see the inside of the loa’s mouth now, with the Spymaster and the mage sitting at a table, talking to each other -- or perhaps to the loa. Mrgl waved Gleega back to her duties just as Flynn charged across the room and started pounding on Gral’s mouth.

Little Jian exchanged a look with him. “Humans, eh?”


	7. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: ORIGINAL CHARACTER DEATH, canon-typical battle scene
> 
> Thanks to Kayani_Iriel for the fast proofread.

“There are babies to save, Master Shaw. I must come.” The human was being stubborn but Mrgl had four thousand years of experience dealing with difficult sentient beings. “Whatever we do will become known, and the figurehead tadpoles should not be killed but they can not be left to become sources of power for another. They have to become anonymous and be rehabilitated. I am the only one who can do that kind of thing right now.”

Shaw clearly didn’t like it. He looked to one side and rubbed his face and smoothed his moustache. “This is dangerous. I need a team of fighters. Not caretakers.”

“You will also find a … perhaps your term is ‘watcher’ useful in any battle. Someone who can observe the scene and do a little damage while calling out when a danger approaches from an angle that is difficult to see. You will be focused on a narrow area. I can see the whole field.”

Shaw didn’t like that, either, but it was a hard point to argue against.

Mrgl held up a small field pack. “And I am, as you see, ready to go. I have medical supplies as well. I have a mount.” 

The human’s exhalation and slight dip of his shoulders indicated that the argument was won. “We leave in five minutes,” Shaw said, and turned back toward his bespoken. Flynn touched his arm gently and they whispered together for a moment, bonding again in a way that he never saw among the kaldorei. The Children of Elune could take their time to savor relationships and subtleties, but those whose lives seemed like a summer afternoon had to fight against the swift and cruel knowledge of the coming night and build their ties firm and fierce and true with little waste for frivolous symbolic acts.

It was something he could never taste, but he thirsted for it anyway.

Shaw and his bespoken stood by the door and stepped into the pool. Mrgl followed, whistling to the fathom ray that the Bloodfin kept for him. It was an elderly beast, scarred and half-blind, that could never survive on its own, but that still flew swiftly and was strong enough to carry more than one person now that it ate regularly and was cared for.

Zanliliben unfolded her riding carpet, smoothing it out. “Would you prefer to ride me and spare your beast? There’s plenty of room, and you wouldn’t have to risk leaving your ray somewhere that the wild ones might try to fight it.”

He looked at the carpet as he rubbed the slaty-blue snout. “It might be wiser. This one still thinks he is young enough to challenge for a mate.”

She patted the rug, grinning up at him. “Then come. Sit. Rugs don’t fight anyone. And they won’t try to eat whatever it is you packed for lunch.”

*****

“We’ve got an hour and thirty eight minutes before the breathing potion wears off,” Shaw said grimly. “Can you show us where the lich is and where the Gillvanis tadpoles are?”

Mrgl consulted the scribbled map that Murky had given him; a series of marks and glyphs on waterproof parchment that looked more like a series of doodles done during a very boring meeting than any sort of sensemaking map. “The wandering undead are past that balustrade there. The little tadpoles…” he traced the marks with a fingertip and then pointed toward a large oval amphitheater in the distance. “...are in there.”

He nodded toward a distant tower that seemed to be in the best repair. “The lich was last seen in that place.”

“Gives a good view of the landscape.” Shaw signaled them to move toward a ruined wall. “I’m going to take a higher ground. I’ll scout ahead and signal as it’s safe to come up.” He vanished and then reappeared seconds later, signaling them to move forward.

It was slow progress, and Mrgl felt a sweep of relief as they reached the holding area for the tadpoles. He motioned the others to stay back and stepped into the dim opening shown on the scribbled instructions. “Children?”

There was no reply. Perhaps they weren’t Bloodfin tadpoles. He tried again in the Ghostlands dialect. “Children?”

There was a soft rustling and distant whispers -- not the sound of murlocs -- from an entirely different direction. Chitterspine crabs rose up out of the depths like a carpet of darkness, claws clacking like a million scissor blades and moved toward them, crowding into the narrow tunnel. 

Shaw whirled and pointed toward the stairway. “Go up! Fast! And druid, you’ve got just ten seconds to get those tadpoles or we’re leaving. Those crabs are no accident. Someone knows we're here."

Mrgl turned back into the hallway, clicking and calling the hatching call. There was a soft padding sound and three little female tadpoles waddled into sight, their limbs and bodies thin, eyes filmed over from a poor diet. He stepped forward, ignoring the increasing noise of the claws, and held out his arms. They reached for him and he scooped them up and ran back for the safety of his group. Shaw darted behind him as he reached the stairs that led to the floor of the amphitheater.

“Not here! Too open,” Shaw pointed toward something that might have been an office. “Run for the other side.” He vanished and reappeared almost simultaneously a good ten feet away. “Down into the other tunnel.”

The first crabs were well into the tunnel below the stairs. Zanliliben cast her fast blink-travel spell and appeared at the mouth of the tunnel they had just left. She waited until the first group of crabs approached, then thrust her hands outward, casting a frost nova that froze the front line. She blinked back to safety and trotted past, following the others. Shaw gave Mrgl a not-ungentle shove. “Run, druid. I’m the rearguard. If you stand there we’ll both die.”

Mrgl ran, his arms full of children.

Shaw sprinted beside him, shouting to the others, “In there. Two doorways and we can control the situation.” He slashed down hard at something that rose up from the ground as Jian disappeared into the doorway with Flynn right behind him.

The interior was plain marble; whatever furnishings and personal things that once sat here were long rotted away. There was no door at either opening and the floor was shattered in several places but it was defensible. There was a place to stand with your back to a wall that gave a good view of the sea floor in both directions and ledges that might be climbed for temporary safety.

“We’ve drawn the lich out of hiding,” Shaw said grimly as the others gathered around him. “I killed a mur’ghoul on the way in and now I can see a group moving toward us over there.” He pointed and they could see a brief purple flare of arcane magic at the door that opened onto the city. . “Bao, you and I will take the door. Stand to one side so that they have to try to get through the door to see us. The rest of you move to that platform. Flynn, you and Jian can control the door that leads to the amphitheater. Mrgl, you and the tadpoles stay behind Flynn. Can you still cast spells?”

“I can. A few. I never collected tools of power, so I only have a little mana energy. But I can heal them for a while and make roots grow up to grab the crabs so they don’t move.”

“Then do that. It will be a long fight, so don’t waste all your energy right away.” 

The night vision potion would wear off soon. Mrgl handed the Spymaster two manapearl lights. “These will help.”

He took them with a nod and set them over the two doors. “We’re out of time now. Here they come.”

The ocean floor seemed to rise up against them.

*****

In the heat of battle there is no sense of time, only a sense of action. Events were a blur; Mrgl shifted the tadpoles around as he lent what magic he had to Flynn and Jian, healing when he could, rooting when he could, perpetually drained of mana. The tadpoles, thankfully, were quiet. He tucked them into his bag and set it where they would be safest.

The others were moving more slowly now but the lich at the amphitheater arena seemed to have a never-ending number of mur’ghouls and crabs to throw against them. The cut on Jian’s thigh was proving hard to heal, and he was out of mana again… and again… and again. Some of the chitterspine crabs had breached the arena doorway and were inside. Bao blasted the area with a holy nova, simultaneously killing the crabs and mur’ghouls in range and healing Jian.

She was getting low on mana. Mrgl cast a quick innervate spell as he turned back to Jian. He’d miscalculated. In the brief time that it took to turn and take care of the priest, the Ankoan started to bleed again and the faint haze of blood would soon attract other things. Mrgl was out of mana again and there was no time to dig out medical supplies. He grabbed a rock from the floor and flung it at the crawling mass.

Spymaster Shaw seemed tireless. He darted from side to side, daggers flashing, his body fading in and out of view as he vanished and then reappeared elsewhere. There was a blur of light from knives and a cloud of something that didn’t seem to drift correctly in the water and Mrgl felt a stab of despair. The breathing spell did give the sense and power of being on land and in the air, but only for things that were alive. For inanimate things like bombs and smoke and powders, the water behaved like ordinary water. Murlocs had developed knowledge about how to deploy powders and liquids in water but the landwalkers thought only in terms of land and air. Shaw had planned his strategy around landwalker things. There was no time to tell him about the things the murlocs knew.

Rime frost winked in the light to the right of him as the mage fired off bolts of blue ice. The Bespoken danced in, light flashing on his blade as he cut through a group of smaller tentacles. He was swift, but not as fast as his rogue. However, his blows were far more powerful and he could easily kill and knock over the front row of monstrosities that Mrgl entangled with thick green roots as they slithered up from the darkness.

“Back up. Toward us!” Bao panted. Jian took a step backward, slashing down at the clawed things that grappled his ankles and Mrgl dredged up a trickle of mana and blasted it with moonfire. Then there was no more energy left again and he set his back against the shelf where the tiny tadpoles cowered and began battering at the carapaces with his fists, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Ankoan.

The mage made a complicated gesture and a sheet of ice froze the crawling horrors. 

“Second lich!” Jian shouted, pointing into the murky depths. A pinpoint shape of purple glowed brightly and then dimmed.

“Got him,” Zanliliben answered, wreaths of blue light coiling in her hands. A bright ball of azure arced from her palms and sped into the darkness, exploding in an arctic glare. The tide of monsters paused. “He’s down! Bwonsamdi!” A shape that might have been the loa glittered briefly in the inky depths.

Cold energy streaked toward them. Mrgl turned toward the mage just as her chest shattered in shards of bloody ice. "Zanliliben!"

Her mouth moved. One final spell shattered the front line of the monstrous little army and then her arms went limp and she drifted in the currents.

He lunged at her floating form and caught her arm, pulling her body to his, not looking at her ruined torso. Her eyes were still bright and he thought he could see a faint movement as her spirit faded. He clawed off his hood then, fumbled to strip his gloves, and cradled her head in his arms and bared his hidden self to her gaze. 

Her eyes were the color of the spring leaves in Teldrassil so long ago; a land she would never see and one that he'd almost forgotten. 

He stroked her face with his thumbs, skin on skin and touched his forehead to hers. "Oh lady, so bright... so brave. I... I can't heal you. I don't have the power to heal your kind." His eyes burned. Tears weren't visible here in the ocean, but he crumpled over her and wept with deep shuddering sobs. "Oh lady. May you be safe with Bwonsamdi. I will raise your tablet in the temple of Gral." 

He'd heard somewhere that hearing was the last sense to fade. "Zanliliben," he whispered again and again, smoothing the last traces of pain from her face, closing those beautiful leaf-colored eyes. Bare skin to bare skin. He whispered her name again to sing her forward on the path to eternity. "Zanliliben."

Someone was shaking him roughly but he couldn't move away; couldn't look up. The last thing she would see _would_ be the face of someone who thought she mattered; someone who thought she was redeemed. The last thing she would hear was her name. "Zanliliben."

He was jerked upright and she slipped away from his grasp. Hands spun him around and he was face-to-face with a huge snarling human.

 _"She's dead and if you don't root those clacking things, we will be dead in less than a minute and your baby murlocs will be torn to bits!"_ Flynn roared at him. He looked into the darkness and saw eyes... and more eyes. A carpet of eyes. 

He gestured weakly. Green roots twisted and clung, and there was a pause and then over the backs of the tendrils an inky tide rose -- chitterspine crabs, their claws clacking like a million scissor blades. Flynn cast a despairing glance toward the place where his bespoke and the priest were still fighting. "Back up. Tell the murlocs to stay with us."

He couldn't back up. There was a swirl of fins in the darkness. He promised her a tablet. He couldn't leave her to be shredded and eaten by the deep sea frenzies.

He reached for her as she drifted above the ocean bed. "Zanliliben."

Red fins swirled and moved forward.

There was a faint sting and light faded.

*****

Jian’s eyes were bleak as he tucked the dart back in his hunting pouch. “I had to dart him. He wasn’t going to move. He will be out for a brief time. We must move him quickly before the frenzies move in.”

A school of red-finned fish surged forward as Flynn grabbed for the druid, pulling him away from the mage’s limp body. They maneuvered him onto the platform ledge and Flynn propped the unconscious druid into a corner and turned back to the fight. Jian was moving slower now, clearly tiring. Flynn swung his cutlass in a quick arc and cleared some of the attackers from the area to the Ankoan’s right. Something was battering against the rotting stone walls, but he couldn’t turn his attention away from the things near his feet.

A quick glance showed that Mathias and the priest were moving around the floor, changing positions as they fought the army of undead advancing through the narrow doorway. The bodies there were piled fairly high, but the mur’ghoul simply clawed their way through their fallen troops and kept advancing as the column nearest their position collapsed under the heavy pounding of something unseen. Jian darted out of the way, slashing at a shape that was burrowing up from the sandy flooring.

The new gap in the masonry showed more blackness. Flynn glanced over his shoulder. Mathias made a high leap and threw something far into the darkness, then landed hard among the jagged marble rubble, rolling to one side at Bao’s feet as her holy fire spell hit the ground in front of them with a thunderclap. There was a second explosion of light in the far distance, followed by silence. 

Nothing seemed to be moving. Flynn got his hands under Mrgl’s armpits and hauled the druid closer to the priest as Jian picked up the tadpoles and set them among the rocks behind Flynn. Mathias and Bao stepped back, eyes still focused on the doorway. Nothing moved.

“Was… that it?” Jian asked softly after a long silence. Flynn reached out slowly to touch Mathias, to center himself in the knowledge that they were both somehow alive. 

A dusky shape hovered in the doorway. “Well, lookit dat,” Bwonsamdi chuckled. “Did ya kill da evil lich? Yes. Is da oddah one dead? Indeed. Have da dead here stopped movin’? Absolutely. Are da t’ings in da ocean here undah control? Not mah depahtment.”

A movement in the water indicated the arrival of Gral. He nosed in toward Bwonsamdi, his shark body glowing with arcane light, fins stiff, tail whipping from side to side. “Well, Bwonsamdi?” It sounded like a threat, low and deadly.

The loa’s form seemed to waver briefly and there was a silence that seemed to stretch out for years. “No.” he finally said.

“You lost them?” Gral quadrupled in size suddenly, dwarfing the other spirit. “Lost _my people_?”

The ghostly light in Bwonsamdi’s eyes flickered. “Dere was nothin ta catch.”

“And the lich? Zanliliben couldn’t put the totem on his body.”

“Dat did not mattah. I was next ta him. Did not need a pin ta bind him. But he was not dere. Nothin ta grab.”

“I do not believe you. I saw their shapes rising. You ignored them. You are feeding souls now to the Mouth of the Dark to save your energy.”

Bwonsamdi’s mask flickered. “I am doin’ no such thing!”

“I wonder what Kimbul will say, or Kragwa. And what of Jani? How would the Lord of Thieves feel about the Lord of Death failing in order to steal energy for himself?” Gral’s back arched slightly, his front fins pointing stiffly downward. “There can _always_ be another loa of death.”

Flynn picked up the tadpoles and quietly slipped to one side. There was an old saying in Drustvar about not becoming involved in the affairs of gods, and this situation looked as if it was a powderkeg.

But Mathias Shaw was not afraid of kings or gods. He stepped between the two deities, his face hard and grim, and held up the pair of totems. “You _both_ owe me and the king some answers. Honest answers. And while you might not be accountable to each other, the titans may feel very differently about the two of you playing games with the souls of the dead.” 

“I see no titans here,” Bwonsamdi said dismissively.

He pointed to Lucky Bao’s necklace. “She’s directly connected to Azeroth and Azeroth is, on some level, aware of what is going on. Now you seem to say that Azeroth’s dead are being taken somewhere. You gods exist because we mortals exist, and you owe us… all of us… Azeroth, my team, everyone, an explanation. And no games.” He folded his arms and stared at them, head high, judge and jury weighing the deliberations of deities, unafraid. 

“My child… my follower was dying,” Gral said quietly. “We all knew today was her last. She came to kill the monster that had been her husband and the hope was that with Bwonsamdi next to them, we could keep their souls from being eaten by what might be called the Great Devouring.”

“So we were to deliver a dying woman to a fatal test.” There was a deep and cold anger in his voice.

“You were da only ones who could do dat. If we had da trolls or odder Horde wit her, an dey died, da souls might get mixed up. We needed da Alliance help.”

“And in the end it didn’t work?”

Bwonsamdi’s voice was quiet. “No.”

Gral’s tail flicked once. “We do not know what happens to the souls. Only that they are not gone to the places where all our souls go. We do not talk to other … spirits but I think that all are aware that something is wrong here and we may need the help of mortals because what lies beyond is a place where we cannot go. Bwonsamdi is the loa of death, but they are not in his realm. If they go anywhere, it is unique and it is for mortals only.”

“We can do no more,” Bwonsamdi said. “Whatevah happens, it is up to you.”

“You both owe us a debt,” Mathias said, and his voice held ice. “I’m calling in the markers now. Bwonsamdi, see Jian and Bao home. Gral, Flynn and I will be taking Mrgl and the babies home. Make it happen. Jian and Bao, see that our mounts get home. Flynn and I will return to Stormwind after the escort.”

Flynn looked toward the place where the mage’s body had been drifting. The blood-red fins were separating, drifting away, and he thought he could see the white gleam of bone. Bao was bending over Mrgl, her hands bright with light, casting healing spells as Jian watched something in the darkness. He turned away, folding his head over the tadpoles resting quietly in his arms, and wondered why he could feel the sting of tears here under the ocean.

*****

Through the loa’s translucent skin, Flynn could see the gray slaty cliffs of Highmountain and a cluster of dead trees near the shoreline that clutched at the sky like skeletal fingers. The shark coasted down toward the strand, gliding past murlocs and makura and piles of driftwood and drying seaweed..

“This place and time are important,” Gral said softly as they floated over a steep pathway, “so I will gift you a little magic so that you can speak with and understand the murlocs. Bear witness, humans, for this is why I have brought you here. Bear witness.” 

He stopped before a square-mouthed cave as a procession of murlocs came out, headed by a large male who wore a breastplate and helmet and carried a spear. Gral settled onto the rocks and opened his mouth, forming a smooth flat ramp that they could descend. Flynn picked up the tadpoles and walked out onto the cold, rocky shore as Mathias helped the druid to his feet. Mrgl-Mrgl stumbled out onto the rocks, shivering and drooping, his murloc costume torn and dirty, hanging on him like a tired and shabby old coat.

The murlocs’ reaction was immediate. Mouths opened, fins stabbed erect, body colors changed to something darker and there was a sudden murmuring. Mathias took half a step backward with his right foot, bracing himself as adrenaline kicked in, and sidled slightly to put himself between Flynn and the angry-looking mob.

“You are in no danger, human,” Gral whispered, though the spear points aimed in their direction seemed to suggest otherwise.

Murky stalked forward, his fins flared, spear pointed towards the loa’s eye. "What has happened to him, Gral? He was only going to stay with the Bloodfins for six moon-tides. It's been five moon-tides and you bring him back, battered and beaten. This is not right. He was under your protection."

"He is."

"This… this is not a protection. You would be offended if we let your temple here be battered about like that." Sharp spines slid from the sheaths of his fins and he gestured toward the drooping figure.

The loa's tail flicked once. "I can protect him from the sea. I cannot protect him from life."

Murky padded over to his mentor and looked up through the torn cloth into the battered face. "Mrgl?" There was no answer. He touched one of the costumed hands, feeling the hand of the kaldorei beneath, cold and limp. "My king, you are home with your people. Let us take care of you."

The druid straightened slightly, then. "Take care of the children, Murky. They have been through so much."

"It will be done, my king." He gestured towards a nearby adult, who took the tadpoles from Flynn’s arms and set them on the ground where they stood, trembling.

Murky raised his spear and tapped the haft on the ground twice. Heads turned toward him. "Take the little ones to the creche, as was ordered by the king. Call the children. Walk him home. Wash him and offer him drink. Put his new suit on him and let him lie down and sleep."

Gral's fins swirled slightly. "Mrgl-Mrgl has done a great thing for my children. He deserves great honor and great peace.”

They watched in silence as a silent group of adults surrounded the weary kaldorei and led him to the safety of the cavern. Murky bobbed slightly. “Is there a story we can tell the children about his deeds?”

“Tell them that once there was one who followed me -- his name was Drekoki. His wife was Zanliliben and they lived and loved and had children and grandchildren. And when the lich lord killed him and raised him and twisted him into a monster, she went with kindness and love to put an end to the horror. Mrgl-Mrgl fought beside her and when she fell, he held her and told her that she was true and courageous and he closed her eyes for the final time. Bear witness that he cared for her as she left this life.”

Murky leaned against his spear. “It’s a good story.”

“All the best stories are ones that are true. I will go now and tell the Tortollans who guard my shrine the story of these two so that a tablet will be raised and they will be remembered for as long as the Tortollans are here." Gral glanced toward Mathias and Flynn, where they stood silently on the gray rocks. “And tell them that the humans bore witness as well. However, these humans do not trust loas. I will rely on your tribe to help them get home.”

Murky bobbed again and turned toward Mathias and Flynn. “You cannot use the tide portals of my people, but there is a dwarf named Nesingwary who has a place nearby. He has stables for the beasts that fly to and from the cities. Tidecaller Aglaa will guide you there.”

And with that he turned and walked away, and the shoreline was left empty except for birds and the translucent image of the shark loa and a lone blue-skinned murloc who looked up at them and said, “Honored witnesses, I will call the escort and we will lead you safely past the Place of Shattered Wood to the Place Where Tame Birds Roost.”

Gral’s image shimmered. "Do you know,” the loa said as he slowly slid back into the storm-dark sea, “I sometimes think that the Tortollans will outlast time; that at the end of this universe there will be one of them still left, and as the new universe is born they will say to the seedling reality 'come. Let me tell you of an age of heroes…..

“...when once upon a time a great and wise King sent his two Beloved Companions to aid the gods. And the two fought many evils and bore witness to the passing of a great soul and returned home in great and solemn sorrow to the King who loved them...' and the Great Dreaming will turn and remember them all again."


End file.
